Fatal Justice (Jack Lamburt #1)(19)

God, he loved them, and couldn’t bear to leave them like this. Getting whacked was one thing. They all lived with that elephant in the room on a daily basis, but disappearing altogether? His family would never know what had happened to him. How would Sally handle his disappearance? She’d probably hold out hope for a while, but sooner or later she’d have to move on. How soon before she found another man to take care of her? He pictured a faceless man on top of her, pumping away to satisfy her, and his blood boiled.

Revenge was a powerful motivator, and his adrenaline surged at the vision of tracking down the big bastard from the wench’s house and shooting him in the back of the head. He was a pro, and he’d do it the right way. He’d show that fool how to whack someone.

He thought of his Derringer pistol in his boot. It might have weighed in at less than eight ounces, but he’d used it over a dozen times, and each time it had worked flawlessly for close-up head shots. The little .22-caliber bullet was powerful enough to get through a thick skull, but not too powerful where it came out the other side and created a hell of a mess of splattered bone fragments, blood, and brain. He’d learned that the hard way when he’d used a .38-caliber on his first hit and spent the remainder of the night cleaning up the mess. That sucked.

Not so with a .22, though. The little bullet just bounced around the inside of the guy’s head and created Swiss cheese out of his brain. He smiled.

His anger and lust for revenge fired him up, and the cold, fatigue, and red-hot burning of his leg muscles faded to the background.

He started inching his way back up the well. I will kill that bastard. I will kill that bastard.





20





The anxiety Sammy felt about being able to make his way to the top disappeared when his head brushed against the stone that covered the well. Yes!

His exuberance was short-lived, replaced by another fear. What if the stone was too heavy for him to move? How messed up would that be?

He rested for a second and started thinking about Sally, Barbara, and revenge, and his adrenaline started pumping again. He placed both hands on the stone and pushed. It didn’t move; instead he felt his back slide down the rock wall. Shit. He cringed and stopped pushing. He placed his palms against the rock by his butt to support his weight and leaned forward to take some of the pressure off his back. He had to do this. He couldn’t come this far and not make it.

He needed to find a better way to brace his back, so he felt around the perimeter of the well for a rock that stood out a little more than the others. If he found one and could work his way over to it, he could plant his ass on it and use it as a ledge, which would give him more leverage. Maybe even enough to move that damn stone.

About halfway around the well, he felt a small ledge of a rock. It stuck out about two inches from the others around it and was a little higher than he wanted, but he was in no position to be picky. He maneuvered over to the rock and slid his butt over top of it. He was closer to the overhead stone than he wanted to be, and his head was forced to the side, but he had to make do.

He reached up, held his breath, and pushed.

The stone didn’t move. Damn. But his butt didn’t slide down either, so that was a win.

This was it—he either moved this freakin’ stone or fell back down into the well and rotted here. Fear and anger were powerful motivators. His heart raced and he yelled like a Russian weightlifter on steroids and pushed with all of his might.

The stone rose.

He was able to slide it about an inch to the side before it settled back down, but the tiny victory pumped him up even more. He felt like Superman. He took a deep breath and pushed again, this time sliding the rock more than three inches to the side. Yes, holy shit, he was going to make it! He could feel victory within his grasp. “Woo.” He grunted and pushed against the stone again. He slid it over another few inches, and the soft light of the rising sun streamed through the barren trees and lit up the well. He exhaled, and relief swept through him. He’d made it.

His right foot slipped off its supporting rock, and his torso tilted in that direction. He stuck his right hand out to stabilize himself. His left leg buckled under the pressure of the added weight and he fell back into the well, cursing all the way down as he entangled himself in the plastic sheet hanging from his belt.





21





Even before he splashed down in the cold water, complete with brand-new cuts and bruises from bouncing off the rock wall on the way down, he knew that he’d get out of the well.

Once free of the plastic sheet, he wiped the water from his eyes and looked up at the shaft of light that pierced the blackness of the well and smiled. The moving of the stone had been the final piece to his escape puzzle.

Now he had the sun to help him as well. The yellow rays, with their promise of warmth, added an element of normalcy to the situation and elevated his mood to the point of euphoria. His pain and fatigue disappeared. Nothing could stop him now.

He took a few deep breaths through grinning lips and went back to work. I will kill that bastard.

With the promised warmth of the sunlight calling for him, Sam made it to the top of the well in no time. He was amazed at how much difference a little light made in foot and grip placement, finding rocks with bigger grips than others, and overall mood improvement. He felt like he’d just done a line of coke and was about to attend his first female-only orgy where all eight women would be fighting to get their hands on him, like they were waiting on line for the stores to open Black Friday.